


Good enough

by eternalshiva



Series: Dragon Age: Alternate Universe (The Way you Make Me Feel) [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalshiva/pseuds/eternalshiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A question, a thought - she takes, he gives and he wonders, is he good enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speedgriffon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/gifts).



> So, eeveevie‘s fic The Way You Make Me Feel has me in all kinds of awful in a good way and chapter 6 destroyed me on a lot of levels. And after reading that chapter, and then reading the comic siriusdraws did for “the big kiss” scene, I really started to hurt for Alistair. 
> 
> Because, he asks that question and all I could think after chapter 6 is how Alistair is a big romantic and that pact, I don’t know. I was kinda mad at Evelyn for taking advantage of his kindness / his feelings. That’s the point though. The taking advantage. 
> 
> All I could think about was the repercussions while listening to This Love by Taylor Swift because I like pain. 
> 
> Spoilers for the fic, if you haven't read chapter 6 yet.

He’s kissed her, a thousand times already. On the temple, on the knuckles, across her eyelids and in his dreams. 

He’s kissed her tenderly, he’s kissed her with regret, he’s kissed everyone of her nightmares away to the depth of darkness while thunder rumbled through the walls of their house. He kissed her with laughter while she hid under the blankets of his bed. He can still feel her toes curled around his, her tear stained cheeks against his shirt and trembling hands in his own. Hushed whispers, no jokes, a smile, another kiss to warm her and to make her smile. 

He  _loves_  her. 

She won’t let him kiss her mouth even though he’s worshiped her body once - a pact between friends and he forgot to tell her he wasn’t prepared to figure out what the fluttering really meant, in the depth of his soul. 

 _You’re an idealist, Alistair_. 

His own words. A  _Romantic_ , if called by another. 

The feeling left a bitter taste in his mouth but she wouldn’t know that, she’d never see that - he smiled, kissed her temple, asked her if she was alright. He pushed down the thoughts of her, tried to forget the softness, the sounds of her. 

He kissed another, after she was gone - on the lips, always the mouth. He’d breathe them in, taste their tongue and wondered... wondered why he  _didn’t_ want to kiss their temple, why he  _didn’t_ kiss their knuckles like he did with  _her_.

He knew, deep down, they were sacred spots. Only for  _her_. 

He kissed his lover’s mouth. The memory of Evelyn shaking her head when he asked, in the secrecy of his room, in the awkward moments of a pact he didn’t really think through - it stings, digs. 

He kisses his lover - the memory crumbles.  

The mouth was sacred, it was for lovers. Not  _friends._  So he kissed  _another_. Mouths heavy, tongue seeking the other, desperate - pleading, wondering, breaking. 

His fingers sought the flesh, sought the memory of Evelyn. He traced non-existent scars on blank canvases while the stranger laughed breathless under him. He’d never tell them why his fingers always traced the same pattern across their skin. He was never serious - always flirting, always seeking their mouth with his own and wondered if  _they_  thought he was  _good enough_  to share such a sacred act, such an  _intimate_ touch.

To kiss, to heal, to mend - he kissed them with thoughts of her hovering in his memories and he pushed Evelyn further down into his heart until he saw her again, years later, in the grocery store. 

Friends.  _Best friends_. 

He reminds himself, everyday, every moment of the time he spends with her when she moves in, when they get her stuff from Howe. When he sees her in that dress and his chest constricts with stupid ideas and he fucks up at the beach because he’s a sentimental fool who hasn’t learned his lesson yet.  

He stares at her across his kitchen, no  _their_  kitchen, and he’s nervous.

_One kiss._

He needs to know. 

“What’s the harm in one kiss?” He asks, memories of her shaking her head no to his mouth but yes to his flesh still lingers. “I mean, I’m a great kisser...” He practiced. He practiced to be just right in case she  _wanted,_  in case she let him be good enough to kiss on the mouth. 

What’s the harm.  _What’s the harm_. The words are heavy on his tongue, heavy with repercussions from years of wondering. 

 _“I suppose one kiss wouldn’t hurt.”_  She says, biting her lip, eyes focused on his boots. 

One kiss, she takes, he gives. What harm can it do?

Plenty. 


End file.
